


inferior

by jasondean



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: M/M, fuck idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9839870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasondean/pseuds/jasondean
Summary: grief is a funny thing, or, peter and matt drink away their sorrows.





	

"Peter, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." The words fall like molasses from his lips, slurred from one drink too many, hitched from the sobs he's been trying his best to swallow for the whole day.

One year ago today, Jason McConnell walked on this earth. He was alive, and then suddenly, he wasn't.

It's 12AM and the only reason Matt is up so late and drinking so heavily is because of the fear of what his dreams might hold in store for him. To put it simply, he fears the ghost of his fatal mistakes haunting his sleep, following him around like the constant guilt hanging over his head and clouding his vision with a cocktail of regret and grief. Though his eyes burn from the combination of holding back tears and sleep, he refuses to rest his eyes, knowing the moment his eyelids flutter shut, he'll be swept into a violent storm of nightmares chronicling each action that deemed him responsible for Jason's suicide. 

He feels evil, sitting here in Peter's apartment, being comforted by the boy who was supposed to be Jason's forever and always. His hand rests on Matt's shoulder, keeping steady and strong against the tremors that have taken over his entire frame, moving in gentle circles as he wipes a hand against his nose after a chorus of sniffles. He looks over at Peter with red eyes, heart sinking at the sympathy and gentleness in the other boy's gaze. "I know you are." His voice is soft and unwavering like the whisper of a breeze. His brows are knit with concern as he gives his shoulder a small pat.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he chokes out, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. His head hurts like hell, from the grief or the booze, he has no idea. As if reading his mind, Peter grabs a hold of his wrist and pulls his hand back to his lap.

"You'll just make it worse like that," he says gently, making a point to ignore the last guilt-fueled remark.

"You lost him, Peter. The  _world_ lost him, and for what? Because I thought I was _better_ than him?" Matt says, volume rising and voice cracking.

"Matt," Peter murmurs, flinching at his sudden shift in tone. "You didn't know any better, it's not your-"

" _Fuck!_ " he exclaims, breaking free from Peter's grasp on his shoulder and wrist and burying his face in his hands. "I wasn't better than him, and I knew it, Peter. I always knew." His voice comes muffled. "I should've known better, okay? I know that's what you're thinking. I know you hate me, and you should. I never thought it would end up like this, and yet..." He takes in a shaky breath, lifting his head and wiping away a few escaped tears. "And yet, here we are. This is our life. He's dead. I killed him."

"Can you stop?" Peter snaps at him. "You didn't kill him. God, if you killed him, I wouldn't be here right now, I swear," he says, voice returning back to its comforting tone. "I know you didn't mean it, okay? I know you just... didn't understand the repercussions. I know that for certain, Matt."

"I thought... I just, I thought it wouldn't be such a  _mess_."

"I know," he murmurs, hand looping around his waist and squeezing him into a hug despite Matt's larger frame. "I know you aren't some bigoted homophobe. You did what you did because you cared."

"I  _outted_ you," he says with a bitterly hollow laugh. 

"Matt... It was only a matter of time, okay?" Peter sighs. "I'm not saying you were right, or that I forgive you completely. I was mad at you, at first. So fucking mad. But I just... I realized if this hadn't happened now, it would've happened later. Jason was always fighting an uphill battle. He was always gonna lose."

Matt glances back to Peter, who looks down at his lap, gaze clouded with memories and clear sadness. He's finally gone silent, and it takes any sort of serenity he was trying to give straight out of the air. Suddenly, the room seems so cold and so lonely. It's one of those times where Jason feels really, truly, completely dead.

"Do you think you would've married him?" Matt's voice quivers.

Peter laughs, and then he shrugs. "I don't know. I just think I should've had the option to find out." He wipes the back of his hand against his face, and Matt can see he's crying now, too. His tears willingly flow down his face, unlike Matt, who wrestles to keep back each and every show of grief. He doesn't know if it's because he's less brave than Peter, or because his grief is not his to feel.

Matt leans over and grabs his abandoned beer bottle from it's place on the coffee table in front of them, handing it to Peter. "Cheers," he says dryly as the other boy's hands wrap around it hesitantly, giving the beer an unsure glance before putting it to his lips and tipping his head back to down the entire thing. 

Peter coughs as he brings his lips away from the thing, beer dribbling down his chin and dripping onto his chest. "Much better," he remarks, returning the bottle back to the table, wiping away the stray drops of the liquid and falling back against the couch. His expression is stormy, the ghost of a smile marking itself on his lips, making all for a rather uneasy, unstable image.

Matt would ask him if he was okay, but he already knows the answer.

"I lost him," he says. "I could've done something, but I lost him, and he..." Peter closes his eyes, his pause stretching over long seconds. "He... He's gone."

Something about the way he says it sobers Matt up, even if it's just a bit. The finality of his voice strikes a shiver down his spine, and he swallows hard, refraining from conceding or contradicting the statement. Peter's eyes finally flutter back open, resting on Matt. His light green eyes are as dry as a bone now, but they're deep with feelings he desperately does not want to stay on.

His hands reach and grab a handful of Matt's T-shirt, bunching the fabric forcefully in his hand as he pulls the other boy towards him, kissing him so hard the world starts to spin. He can hear the blood roaring in his ears and his pulse racing from the tips of his fingers to his toes, frozen as Peter's lips move against his until he starts moving back. It's not a conscious decision, and if he were in control of his body, he'd put a stop to whatever this is immediately, but every single emotion in his haze of blame propels him forward, meeting Peter's ferocity in perfect time.

Instinctively, he moves his hands to Peter's face, finding it round and soft aside from the uneven patches of stubble despite the force in which he moves. His lips are chapped and rough, his tongue warm and dizzying, and he tastes like beer and peppermint. Eventually, he manages to push them horizontal onto the sofa, Peter straddling Matt. Their lips part and Matt can only stare back into Peter's gaze, his breathing becoming hitched as the boy begins to claw at the hem of his shirt, tugging at it before their joint effort finally removes the piece from over his head.

It's only just hit the ground when Peter sits up, ripping his own shirt off, giving Matt only a moment to admire the sight of his bare skin before he dives back into kissing. His hands wander over Peter's back, tracing his tensed muscles with the tips of his fingers. He's alive beneath him, humming with newfound electricity.

Without pulling away, Peter's hands move down to his jeans, hurriedly unzipping them and pulling them down to his ankles. Snapping back to his senses, Matt pushes Peter off him with a bit off effort.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he breathes, wide eyes searching Peter's face. 

"I don't know," he says in reply, wiggling out of his own pants and discarding both of their jeans to the ground where they fall into the pile of fabric made from their shirts. His hands cup Matt's face and he gives him a quick kiss, sitting up on his lap and looking back down at the flustered boy.

His mind is racing and he's half part horrified and half part turned on more than he's ever been in his life. The horror only becomes a distant buzzing when Peter's hands move under the waistband of his boxers, movements unplanned but without hesitation as he coaxes a groan from his lips. As Peter shifts on his lap, he can feel his hardness rubbing against his thigh, prominent even through the fabric of his briefs. 

With one hand still stroking his erection, Peter goes straight to work at removing his underwear. By the time he's done, Matt's so drunk on his feelings and the alcohol that he doesn't even have it in him to feel embarrassed, not even as Peter's gaze sweeps over his naked body like a starving wolf's. A little maneuvering and he's completely undressed as well.

Matt stares at his body in silence for the better part of five seconds before forcing himself to look at his face, a stony numb expression replacing any bit of compassion and vulnerability present before. Guilt pulses through his chest as Peter kisses him again, sweetly in spite of initiating more handling at Matt's nether regions, for some fucked up reason bringing the image of Jason to mind.

"What are we doing?" he asks.

Peter hushes him, pressing another kiss to his lips. "Please, Matt," he begs against his lips. "I really need this. Please."

He sounds so desperate, and though he'd rather say it stirred pity in him rather than arousal, he'd be lying. Pushed on by Peter's whimpering, plagued by the image of Jason in his mind, he flips him over, needing no more convincing before eliciting a loud gasp and losing himself to bliss.

He was always second best to Jason. He was tossed Tybalt only when Jason came to snatch away Romeo. Ivy's flirtations stopped only when Jason came around. He only lost valedictorian because Jason decided he just had to be the smartest kid, like he decided he wanted to play the lead, like he decided he wanted to fuck and break the prettiest girl in school. 

Even as Peter writhes beneath him, demanding  _harder, harder, harder_ , his thoughts move in and out of this state of bitter jealousy towards a boy who never got to live past age eighteen. To think, he had his own fucked up problems, and Matt would only ever come in second. He died, and though he'd be remembered as Jason, Matt would only be remembered as the boy who could never  _be_ Jason.

He is an off-brand version of the beloved jock that they only ever turn to because the store brand has gone and offed himself. And how could he blame them? Jason was Jason. Jason was one in a million. And God, he killed him.

"Oh, _God._ "

"Cum in me, Matt."

" _Peter_."

"Fuck, yes, _God_. Good boy."

_Good boy, good boy, good boy. Not as good as Jason, but good boy. Good enough._

He feels sick.

"Matt!"

Yes, he's going to throw up.


End file.
